


Whoever You Are

by reyshine95



Category: Captain America, Captain America Civil War, MCU, Marvel
Genre: PTSD, Possible thoughts of suicide, Pre-CACW, losing loved ones, post-CATWS, pre-AOU, saying goodbye to memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6932200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyshine95/pseuds/reyshine95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Captain America The Winter Soldier, Cap has time to think over things from his hospital bed and come to terms with the reality of his situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whoever You Are

There was a bitterness to all of this. Steve was aware that even though the battle had been fought, he was no closer to finding a victor. The falling of S.H.I.E.L.D had been a travesty. The thousands upon thousands of people lost their livelihoods, lost their friends and family, and became victims of their own hopefulness. Captain America was meant to be a symbol of unity. He was meant to come in save everyone from their own wrongdoings and selfishness, and now as he lay in his hospital bed Steve Rogers was more sure than ever that Captain America was nothing but a bitter lie.

Steve's friends have long since given in space to breathe. Now that he was alone and covered in tattered white cloth he was able to see the world around him through the new screen hanging in the upper left side of his hospital room. A hero, the capital nearly in shambles and they were calling Steve Rogers a hero. As agony boasted through his bones and yet he couldn't help but shake his head in disappointment. How is Steve the hero? How could a man who was failed so tragically be considered one of the victors?

The recovery time was given only in speculation. The fact of the matter was the doctors did not know for sure how well Steve would heal. The multiple bullet holes that impacted his body, the severe head trauma, and overall mental degradation that had taken place of the last 48 hours was enough to kill even a strong man. Yet here he was yet again alive at the end of the battle he didn't want to win, and frankly there was nothing more disappointing to Steve Rogers then just that fact. He was so tired, and despite the fact that he had done a good service to his country he felt no better than he had 70 years ago.

Perhaps this was the greatest irony, perhaps the tragedy of Steve Rogers was that he should live through every battle when all he wanted to do is die. The words have never been spoken aloud. The great Captain America on a precipice of mortality, and all Steve Rogers could do was give a halfhearted smile. If it had been a week ago when Steve was in the hospital for a less exciting affair, maybe these wayward thoughts wouldn't have a hold on him. Perhaps the spiraling depression that had affected him since his reemerging wouldn't sink it's rapid teeth into his flesh and take him down.

He had humored Sam a time or two by listening to his practical diagnosis of PTSD. Steve wasn't completely unfamiliar with the term, he had heard it once before after his reemergence as a doctor at Shield mentioned it to him. However if this was what it was, if this hopelessness was he reality that Steve would have to live with for the rest of his days, maybe dying on the battlefield was a better option. Steve knew the second he put a face to the monster Hydra had created and such a face with someone he cared for so deeply, it was game over.

If Steve wanted to be sure more than ever that the world was worth living in, he should've never saw Bucky's face. He listened to Natasha in the hospital room for three solid hours. She tried to coax him into understanding that there was nothing left to save. Natasha knew the Winter Soldier, and she also knew that he was not the friend of Steve Rogers. The fact is enough to break Steve's heart. If this was the world he lived in and it was a world without Bucky Barnes but still have the fragments of the past he could never touch. Steve shook his head once more practicing the menstruation that awoke darker thoughts.

He was pulled away from his thoughts when the TV in his room suddenly clicked off. There in the doorway with the devil herself. Natasha gave was glued to his face as his eyes darted away from her. “I see you've been doing quite a good job of catching up on the news,” she said with the deep uncertainty. Steve let out an unbelievably broken laugh, and Natasha's brow knitted at the sound of it. She was worried. Steve can tell by the unsettled look in her eyes that Natasha has spent the majority of the morning pacing around trying to find the right words to stitch together.

“Natasha, I'm fine,” Steve said a heavy sigh. The man could laugh and everyone suddenly stopped believing in him. The straight red locks that covered her face flickered as she moved into the room and closer to his bed. “I know you are,” Natasha deflected easily. “I just want to make sure you're not in here your drowning in your own misery.” Steve rolled his blue eyes before deciding that he no longer was interested in hearing about Natasha's worries. As kind as she was, and as good of a friend was she wanted to be, she wasn't going to fix this wound. They were both silent for a long moment before the other pulled a small case from her bag. “I figured you might be awake enough to put a mission report together,” she added before handing him the case.

Steve nodded his frosted gaze not explaining the conflict that was settling in him. Natasha took that moment's not her head in return before stepping out of the room. Steve had hoped that was the last time he would have to deal with her for that day, and slowly began on unpacking the material she had brought him. Inside the case with a small laptop easily sat atop the tray table adjoined to his hospital bed.He supposed it wouldn't be too bad of an idea, it would certainly help to sort all of thoughts out. He opened the writing utensil and with his fingers hovering over the keys he felt a regrettable sigh bubbling up the back of his throat. 

He didn't want to write about the mission. The falling of S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't matter to him. All that came to mind and all that seem to rush to his fingertips was the expression of his grief. Perhaps writing it all down, perhaps making sense of what he felt, and what he wanted to do - maybe that would be a better use of time. As the key began to flicker away slowly began composing a piece that he hoped no one but one pair of eyes would ever read. 

_April 10, 2014 0800 hrs._

_I don't know who I'm writing this for mostly because I don't really know just who you are. I know my original hope would be that you are Bucky. I know on that bridge it was my only thought, and yet now after being in the hospital for a grand total of 48 hours I've been advised by every single person that I know that I was wrong._

_It's difficult for me to come to terms with the idea that my greatest failure may also be my enemy's greatest success. I can honestly tell you that was not for the fate of my friends I would not have fought you. I feel now that it is the only thing that keeps me going, and now I am faced with the guilt that I have only hurt you further._

_70 years ago I lost the only thing in my world that I knew to call home. Now I'm in a world where everyone says home is where your heart is, and I feel like I have barely any heart left. I won't pretend to understand your troubles. I won't pretend to know just what to say to make you realize that everything will be okay, and yet I will tell you that given the chance and the effort placed by you and you alone - you could find a world that accepted you just as much now as you are as it did 70 years ago._

_This world we live in now is built for people who are different. It's built for the people who were wrong but chose to be right. It's made for villains who were meant to be heroes, people who made mistakes but want to correct them. If you're no longer Bucky, and your a man composed entirely of mistake after mistake, let me tell you that you are within time period where those can be changed. You can make a life for yourself, and do things differently._

_Even if it is 2014 I know my heart is still back in 1943, and I know I'm nothing more than a soldier who was really bad up at following orders. So I will do my part, I will fight the battle asked of me and if so be it die trying to do the right thing. You. You go live a life doing what you deem to be the right thing. Don't be the Winter Soldier. Don't be Bucky Barnes. Be whatever you need to be to get by, and know that I will support you no matter what._

_And if at the end of all of this I never see you again, I can at least know that you will now understand that I do not judge you. I may have not had your experience, but I know what it's like to no longer be the man you wanted to be. All that is left of me is Capt. America. Sometimes I imagine that the world does not even know who Steve Rogers is, but the world doesn't need him – so it's okay. It's almost ironic that at the end of me, my last hope would be the hope of the start of you._

_So whoever you are. If you're Bucky, if you're the soldier, or if your something entirely new. Please know I would never ask you to turn back, but would only make one request of you. Go be happy, go start a new line, and don't you ever let it end._

_Steve_

As his typing came to a halt Steve couldn't help but review his thoughts quietly to himself, there was a hint of surprise to them before he allowed himself the reality of the situation. As long as they people he loved walked away, Steve Rogers could die in that hospital bed and be happy. He saved the letter, sending it off to his personal file archive with only a small adjust of text. He would make it easy to find, linked with James Barnes file within the net. He hoped that the other would find it, and somehow everything that had happened would be okay. 

The laptop closed, Steve moving the table away before leaning back into his bedding with his eyes flickering shut. He wanted to fall back through time to 1943, fall back to a moment where the war was the only nightmare he had. His breathe slowly steadied, heart rate fluttering as he allowed himself to relax into the bedding and let sleep pull him in. Maybe he'd get lucky, maybe sleep would dance with him only one more time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the read, really short one-shot. Probably shit ton of spelling errors, but whatever. Like it or comment if you enjoy.


End file.
